


Lest I Forget

by Witchy1ness



Category: Iron Giant (1999)
Genre: Dean-Centric, Gen, Trigger warning: dealing with PTSD, mentions of Korean War, sorry 'police action', unhealthy coping habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: An off-hand remark by Annie stirs up memories Dean refuses to face.





	Lest I Forget

**Author's Note:**

> What happens when I give in and rewatch Iron Giant. Again. First fic of two :D
> 
> So further research apparently puts Dean as only 25 in the movie (?!), soooo…..this is _supposed_ to be a sequel to the Epilogue I wrote, just...ignore the inconsistencies about Dean’s age *sweatdrop*
> 
> (I may go back and fix that. I may not. Haven't decided yet...)
> 
> The Iron Giant and all recognizable characters are the property of Warner Bros., I'm just borrowing them :)
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored.

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The second time Annie and Hogarth come over for an actual visit, it’s clear that Annie is trying her best to deal with the ghosts of her past.

Unfortunately, an innocent comment from her winds up having a disturbing effect on Dean’s.

“Your bedroom is, um, surprisingly clean, considering.”

Coming out of the kitchenette with two steaming mugs, Dean raises an eyebrow as he hands a gleeful Hogarth his hot chocolate, grinning at Annie’s visible discomfort she tries to look without looking.

Turning to consider the space himself – he can’t really call it a true bedroom, delineated as it is from the rest of the space only by furniture and a sculpture – he cocks his head inquisitively.

“Considering what, exactly?”

“Yeah mom,” Hogarth chimes in, upper lip already glistening with a cocoa mustache. “Considering what, exactly?”

It is clear from Annie’s dry glance that she isn’t entirely taken with her son’s newfound habit of repeating everything Dean says, but she accepts the mug the junkyard owner offers her with a small blush.

 _“Considering_ ,” she retorts pointedly – and Dean doesn’t miss the way her eyes flicker appraisingly around the rest of his place – “…how, um….” She trails off, one hand waving in a vague manner to indicate the cluttered shelves, precarious stacks of records, and various daily life paraphernalia scattered everywhere.

“Ah, well…”

Dean ducks back into the kitchenette, ostensibly to grab his own mug – but it works as a delaying tactic just as well. He takes just slightly longer than is necessary, emerging only when he’s sure his expression gives nothing away.

“A man can’t be creative everywhere, you know? He needs a space to just chill and relax, right? No pressure.”

Hogarth doesn’t even blink, just accepts the explanation along with a “See, Mom?” and a commiserating _women-am-I-right?_ eye-roll at Dean that makes the man hurriedly take a sip of his coffee to keep from smirking.

Content, the nine year-old goes right back to poking into nooks and crannies, and though clearly not believing him, Annie doesn’t press the issue.

Instead, she asks him about the art piece placed

_on guard_

at the foot of the bed, and the conversation is smoothly segued into talking about his projects.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

But the sleeping ghosts that Annie’s nonchalant observation have stirred don’t settle down so easily, and Dean finds himself sitting in his chair long after the pair have departed (he’d normally find Hogarth’s strenuous complaints amusing - but not tonight).

He regrets telling Annie that the piece at the end of the bed is called _Watch_ ; for a moment there, it almost seemed like she’d understood what he _hadn’t_ said, and the thought of being that vulnerable – that _weak_ – in front of Annie had made him break into a cold sweat.

Her words echoing in the back of his mind, he studies his sleeping space with a new perspective.

Okay, so maybe the small single bed with its lone, thin blanket is a little unconventional for a grown man–

_**Keep your bedroom cool, comfortable –** _

\- And the blank, windowless walls are a pretty stark contrast with the rest of the converted Quonset -

_**\- Quiet and dark. -** _

\- And it is pretty empty; the only things actually in the space being the bed, night stand, and dresser.

_**\- Your room should be free of all distractions –** _

But considering he only goes there to sleep – and some nights he only makes it as far as the chair in front of the TV, anyway – it isn’t as if anything else is required.

_**\- and a place you associate with sleeping.** _

His shoulders twitch, and he can almost feel the memories trying to crawl out of the dark hole he’s shoved them into and refused to acknowledge is there.

Lighting up a cigarette doesn’t help either; the nicotine normally bringing a sense of relief only serving to increase his irritability.

The ghosts have turned into shrieking corpses; blackened, skeletal hands reaching out to claw open the festering wounds that are his memories of _that place_.

Dean’s not even conscious of the oaths muttered under his breath as he levers himself out of the chair, a faint hope that working on his latest sculpture for a bit will help.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time his eyes are burning too much to continue working, it’s nearly three in the morning.

He couldn’t bring himself to do any welding – the sight of the flame threatening to bring the corpses back to full, shrieking life.

Instead, he finds a small measure of peace in the soothing scratch of his pencil working over paper as he continues to sketch out a commission. The mayor had approached him to make a statue of the Iron Giant to commemorate its – _his_ , Hogarth’s voice in his head reprimands – sacrifice, and Dean had surprised himself by accepting.

It wasn’t his usual style of work, but since it was really for the kid, he’d do his best.

Setting his pencil down, he scrunches his eyes closed and lets out a groan as he slowly straightens up.

As he stretches, Dean spares only a brief glance at the other sketches lying somewhat haphazardly on and around his drafting table – most are early drafts of the Giant statue, but there are a half-started few of a Lockheed F-80 Shooting Star.

The ghosts are quiet now, in their unmarked graves, and he fervently prays they stay that way. Hoping to get a few hours of sleep he staggers his way back into the Quonset, not even stopping as he toes off his shoes.

There’s a slight hitch in his stride as he moves past _Watch_ , but a brief stroke of fingers over metal helps, and he barely has time to hope for a quiet, untroubled rest before he’s sound asleep.

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 _We grow fewer with the years now,_  
_And we still don’t raise a fuss,_  
_But Korea really happened,_  
_So please - Remember us._

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the one picture showing the cockpit of his plane, I have guesstimated what kind of plane Hogarth's dad flew. Because I am THAT anal about research. Could be wrong, but eh did my best. 
> 
> End stanza is an excerpt from "Korea" by Francis M. Macy, read the full thing here  
> < https://rarnational.org.au/korea-a-poem/ >
> 
> Words in bold are taken from the U.S. Dept. of Veterans Affairs **Path to Better Sleep** : "Sleep 101: Learn the Basics"  
> < https://www.veterantraining.va.gov/insomnia/index.asp >
> 
> If you or someone you know suffers from PTSD (whether combat-induced or otherwise), please, please don't be afraid to ask for help.
> 
> Veterans Affairs Canada: < http://www.veterans.gc.ca/eng/ >  
> PTSD Association of Canada: < http://www.ptsdassociation.com/ >


End file.
